


Harry Potter and his Great Big Suit Kink

by swisstae



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blushing Draco Malfoy, Boys Kissing, First Dates, First Kiss, HP Kinktober 2020, Harry has a thing for Draco in a suit, Harry is so gay, I don't blame him, I have no tags for this thing- like they don't even have sex! what is this about???, Idiots in Love, Kinktober 2020, M/M, POV Harry Potter, Sexy Times, Suit Kink, formal wear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:21:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27244141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swisstae/pseuds/swisstae
Summary: Harry really doesn’t want to say it. Not because he thinks Draco will judge, mind you, but because it’s so embarrassing. Harry Potter—Saviour of the Wizarding World—turning into an incoherent mess at the sight of his boyfriend wearing a suit.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 28
Kudos: 150
Collections: HP Kinktober 2020, He was rapidly becoming obsessed with Draco Malfoy





	Harry Potter and his Great Big Suit Kink

**Author's Note:**

> for the HP Kinktober Prompt List #27: Formal wear 
> 
> to BookofSpells who went above and beyond the duty of a beta. thank you, love <33

“How do I look?” 

Harry spins around—and does a double take. He thinks his heart actually skips a beat there, his breath catching in his throat like he’s the heroine of some trashy romance novel. Draco’s standing there, arms outstretched as he smiles at Harry, grey eyes twinkling like he knows what Harry’s thinking. And it shouldn’t be possible, it shouldn’t affect him like this, but...but. 

Draco’s wearing a formal suit. A _suit._ A very Muggle, very _fitted_ two piece suit. 

Harry would think he was in a dream... except in his dreams, Draco doesn’t talk as often or as loudly about how “Muggle fashion is really so much more advanced than wizarding robes, honestly. Just look at this fit! It’s Burberry, you know, and the shop assistant said I absolutely had to purchase it because my arse looked divine in it, don’t you agree?” 

He turns around, doing a little pirouette. Honestly, if Harry wasn’t so bowled over by lust and affection for this idiot, he would probably laugh. But he can't, because that shop assistant was absolutely right. Draco’s arse _does_ look divine in those trousers. Harry doesn’t even know what he wants to do right now, torn between hysterically laughing or sobbing at the cruel irony of fate. Here he was, trying to take Draco on their first date and now it looks as though he won’t even be able to make it out of the house. He tries instead to focus on the suit, ignoring the way his heart seems to speed up every time he looks at Draco’s expressive face. 

The suit is a dark charcoal grey, patterned with the classic Burberry checks; the tie a deep maroon. Draco would be so irritated if Harry reminded him that red was the colour for Gryffindor… but somehow, he feels like the tie is a deliberate choice today. To remind Harry that Draco chose it for him. That Draco chose _him._

The buttons of his dinner jacket are open, revealing the black silk shirt Harry had bought for him the first time they went Muggle clothes shopping—and Harry can’t fucking stand it anymore. One moment, he’s on the other side of the room, and the next, he’s in front of Draco, whose eyes are blown wide open with sheer surprise. 

“W-what? Harry, what are you doing?” 

“Shh. Just—just let me, okay?” He doesn’t trust himself to say more, his mouth too dry and eyes too riveted by the sight in front of him. Up close, he can see the way the fabric shifts and ripples when Draco moves, the way it hugs his lithe frame so deliciously. Harry runs a light finger along the collar, mesmerized by the way the fabric feels beneath his curious touch. It’s almost unconscious, the way he runs his hands up Draco’s lapels, up his shoulders, his hands mapping their way down to Draco’s tapered waist. Draco’s gone still under his hands, and Harry’s hardly breathing himself. It feels too fragile, almost like if they breathed too hard, the moment would shatter. 

In a moment of rash bravery, Harry slips his hands inside, under the safe barrier of the dinner jacket to dip into the curve of Draco’s hips where his trousers begin. He chances a look up, only to find Draco’s eyes half-lidded, his pupils blown wide as he licks those sinfully pink lips that he’s always biting. 

Oh, he thinks numbly. _Oh._

He runs his hands up now, up the black silk shirt, the tips of his fingers catching on the hard peaks of Draco’s nipples. Almost as though a switch was flipped, Draco comes alive, his breaths come hard and fast, the hollow above his collarbone rising and sinking with each breath. 

Harry’s never been so mesmerized. He starts to remove his hands from Draco’s body, to move away and drink in the sight of him in that suit again—but Draco catches his hands before he can even start to take them off. 

“Don’t you fucking dare, Potter.” 

And Harry tries, he really does, but he can’t suppress the shiver that runs through him when Draco says his name like that. There’s no malice associated with his surname anymore, just pure unadulterated lust coloring his tone. 

“Back to Potter, then, are we?” Harry says weakly, trying to pass it off as a joke. 

Draco’s eyes narrow, as he barks out, “If you don’t kiss me right this second, Potter—I swear to Merlin, I will—”

Harry pulls him in with a firm hand wrapped around his tie, pulling him in closer by his waist as Draco jerked forward suddenly, caught unaware. 

He runs his hands up again, feeling the silky soft smoothness of the jacket, but he doesn’t stop at the collar this time. He moves his hand further up at the side of his neck, rubbing a thumb over Draco’s jaw as he cups it in his hand. 

Draco leans into the touch, the downturn of his mouth melting away into a softer expression. His eyelids flutter shut for an instant, and Harry doesn’t know if it’s possible to die of wanting, but he has a feeling he’ll find out. 

Draco’s eyes open again and they’re a molten silver now, burning Harry with their intensity. He opens his mouth to say something, say _anything_ —but he can’t because Draco leans forward to brush his lips against Harry’s. It’s the softest touch, a butterfly kiss ghosting on his skin and Harry’s fingers tremble where they’re placed on Draco’s jaw. 

Draco leans in again and again and again, soft darting touches that make Harry weak with desire. “Kiss me, you fool,” he says fondly—and Harry obeys. 

He leans in this time, fingers flexing on Draco’s jaw and kisses him. It’s as soft as the first one Draco bestowed on him, but he wants more. He _needs_ more. He nips lightly at Draco’s bottom lip, swallowing Draco’s stuttering gasp; he licks his way into Draco’s mouth, tasting mint toothpaste and chocolate and something entirely unique that screams of _Draco._ Harry groans slightly as Draco’s hands wind themselves in his hair, clutching at the messy black curls. Draco tilts Harry’s head to the side, using his leverage, and... _oh._ Their mouths slot together again, deeper now, their rhythm building into a push-and-pull dynamic. Harry’s never felt more alive. 

They sway on the spot, hands desperately scrabbling at each other as they kiss and kiss and kiss. When Draco finally pulls back, his face is flushed, the blooming pink traveling down his neck to where the tie is now resting askew. Harry wants to pull off the goddamn tie and rip off the buttons of that fucking silk shirt. He wants to spread Draco out in front of him, all soft sighs and gently pinking skin laid out for him to touch. He wants to catch a pink, pebbled nipple between his teeth and suck at it until Draco pleads for him to stop; kissing, licking and sucking every inch of him until he’s brought Draco to the edge more times than he can count. 

And after that, Harry wants to hold him close and lay his head on top of Draco’s chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. The ferocity of his longing surprises Harry, and he shakes his head slightly to dispel the image. For now, he’s content to live in the present. He pulls back slightly from their embrace in the middle of the room to look at Draco again. 

Draco’s eyes are blown wide, the thin ring of grey around his pupils the most alluring thing Harry’s seen in his whole life. And then Draco smiles at him, a small genuine quirk of his lips, as he manages to turn even pinker under Harry’s careful scrutiny. 

“So, that was unexpected.” 

Harry winces, as Draco lets out a chuckle. “I’m not complaining. But I _am_ curious. You were the one who wanted to take things slowly and go out on a few dates first.” Draco’s voice is getting softer, more hesitant. “Was that real? Or did you just want-?” 

”No! No, Draco, of course not!” Harry exclaims, running a frenzied hand through his hair. “No, it’s all true. I did want to take things slowly and you know, get to properly know each other before we end up doing anything—because I really want this to work with you. You’re one of the most wonderful people I know and I really want to do it right with you.” He looks up into Draco’s eyes, and finds relief in them, still mixed with fear. 

“Me too, Harry. But I still don’t get it. Why would you...” Draco trails off as Harry groans, putting his face in his hands and muttering something unintelligible to himself. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. What did you say?” 

Harry really doesn’t want to say it. Not because he thinks Draco will judge, mind you, but because it’s so embarrassing. Harry Potter—Saviour of the Wizarding World—turning into an incoherent mess at the sight of his boyfriend wearing a suit. 

_Time to be brave, Harry._ He lifts his head up and whispers, “I kind of freaked out because you were wearing a Muggle suit and you looked really fucking good?” 

Draco stares at him for a long moment. And just when Harry thought it wasn’t possible for Draco to actually _turn pinker_ … it happens. It’s a slow bloom of crimson across his cheekbones, blotchy and imperfect and so beautiful that Harry can’t stand it. He pulls Draco in for another snog, peppering light kisses wherever he can find a patch of flushed skin. 

Harry walks them backwards until the backs of his calves hit the couch, and pulls Draco on top of him. It’s hot and slick and the weight of Draco’s body on top of his own sparks a delicious shudder in him; and when Draco does this _thing_ with his tongue, Harry’s eyes roll into the back of his head. He’s clutching fistfuls of Draco’s silk shirt in his hands and although he craves that skin-to-skin contact-- this is more than enough for now. 

When they finally pull apart, yet again, they’re both breathing heavily. “You meant what you said?” 

And Harry’s almost forgotten why they ended up like this for a second time, too comfortable in sinking into Draco’s warm embrace, Draco’s legs entwined between his own. His cheeks burn with embarrassment, but he manages to croak out, “Yes. You looked—fuck, I don’t know, you looked absolutely beautiful in that suit and I don’t know what came over me. I’m so sorry, love. I never wanted you to think it’s purely physical but I just couldn't help myself.” 

And then Draco’s smiling, mischievous and lopsided, all his teeth showing and Harry has to remember to breathe. He thinks to himself, a little startled at how young the expression makes Draco look, that he’s never looked more beautiful. 

“Come on, then,” Draco says imperiously, clambering off of Harry’s lap, and extending a hand out towards him. “Take me out to dinner, and then bring me home to show me just how beautiful you think I look.” 

It’s bold, but it’s punctuated with shyness in the way that Draco’s voice trembles, holding his hand out towards the first person who had ever rejected him. Harry smiles back, hopelessly charmed by Draco’s constant bravery. 

He takes the hand, grasps it firmly and pulls Draco in by grabbing his arse. “You know,” Harry tells him conversationally, “we’ll make a Gryffindor of you yet.” 

He turns and walks away cheerily, hands jammed in the pockets of his trousers as he hears Draco squawk indignantly behind him. “I’ll get you for that!” 

“You can try, sweetheart!” Harry calls back, making his way to the front door. It seemed like their first date might be the first of many more, and he could only smile at the thought of it. 

Who knew that formal wear could be such a tease?

**Author's Note:**

> this should really be written for blushing kink or sumn idk sjjdkfk Draco blushes a fucking LOT in this 
> 
> come find me on [tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/swisstae)


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